Sacrifice for the sake of progress
by BarricadesOfFreedom
Summary: Written for 'Barricade day' 2013, Rated M for character death. [Death based on Original novel.] - Combeferre's thoughts and recollections as the barricade is taken by the National Guard, including a short aftermath. "Ne pleurez pas sur moi, ma mère. Pour nous mourons au nom du progrès."


_"Si Cesar m'avait donne La gloire et la guerre, Et qu'il me fallait quitter L'amour de ma mere, Je dirais au grand Cesar: Reprends ton sceptre et ton char, J'aime mieux ma mere, o gue! J'aime mieux ma mere!" _

_Combeferre knew he was lucky to have such a privilege as a family that he could go back to when their fight was done, who would support him if he needed it. There were those who, like Enjolras, had been abandoned due to the involvement with the cause, and those such as Feuilly; who had not known his parents even as a child. Then, as he had sung cheerfully- He was lucky. And now, as the Musain was under attack by the National Guard, He was still. _

_Their ammunition had run dangerously low, and they were defenceless as the Guard slowly took the barricade. They would not survive, he knew now. Many of his brothers had fallen, as had Gavroche and the Gamine- Combeferre had never caught her name, though he had seen her often enough to recognise that her reason for fighting alongside them was to capture the attention of Pontmercy. Where was Marius anyway? He had not seen the student in a while; not that he had been attentive to his whereabouts. It did not matter now though, as they were sure to meet an end soon. They would be free, flying above all of Paris, like larks. Prouvaire would have liked that thought, he supposed. He felt another pang of guilt hit him as Prouvaire came to mind, the gentle, yet intrepid soul had died alone; taken by the enemy marksmen as prisoner and then killed, as a warning, no doubt. Had those men have known Jehan, perhaps they would have spared him, He was a gentle soul, and undeserving of such a harsh death. His mind moved then to his mother, to all of their mothers. Oh, the grief they would face when they would all learn of the fate that had befallen their sons. Who would come to claim their bodies? Would they even be allowed to take their sons back and bury them as the students, the children, which they were? _

_Combeferre was aware that their deaths would spark something greater; they would not die in vain. 'For progress to be made, sacrifice was necessary.' He had told himself that whenever the doubts had taken over his very being. But now as he thought ahead, to the immediate future rather than what would surely happen with time, Combeferre felt nothing but guilt. The wounds he had already received gave no pain, at least nothing that he noticed in that moment. There was a long crack within the lenses of his glasses, and if he believed that they were going to live, he would have taken them off and dealt with the slightly blurred vision. He was not, however. Death was slowly becoming something inevitable, so he wanted to see all that he could: For the last time, he would see the fear within his friends' faces, the blood that stained his clothing, and then finally he would see the end. If he were to go like Jehan had, captured and shot without so much as a chance to be saved, he would refuse to have his eyes bandaged. He would look down the barrels of the guns aimed to strike through his chest and not cry or beg for mercy; he would die willingly._

_He would not give in yet. His mind was ready and his soul accepting of the death, but Combeferre would not surrender, Not whilst his brothers needed his support and presence. And so, the student fought to save those that he could. He was kneeling at the aid of students he had not truly known, and now- he never would, pressing his hands over wounds in an attempt to stop the blood from flowing. He barely felt the bayonets pierce through his chest and then he realized that it was the end for him. Combeferre had but little time to glance up to the heavens before he too fell forwards, the already cracked glass within the thin frames shattering upon impact with the cobbled-ground.  
In that single moment, a silent prayer fell from his very soul. A prayer for his friends, his brothers, that somehow they would survive, else- that their deaths would be as quick as his own had, and his Mother- That her grief would not be one that lasted for the rest of her life. With one last whimper, Combeferre expired; giving himself over to the darkness. _

_Yet, it was not dark. He could have sworn that he saw them there. His brothers, standing in what could only have been the pure radiance of another world, He could see them clearly now. Prouvaire, Bahorel, Lesgles, Feuilly... All of them! The rest were soon to join them there, in what could only have been described as a heaven. At last, they were free from suffering, from hunger and pain. The city and their families would grieve, Combeferre knew. But their deaths had been a sacrifice in hope that Paris would rise from where they had fallen._

_"Ne pleurez pas sur moi, ma mère. Pour nous mourons au nom du progrès."_


End file.
